


A Few Good Memories

by little0bird



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Obitine, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Satine Obi-wan and Qui-Gon on the run, Satine is not impressed, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27932371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Two Jedi and a Mandalorian...  what could go wrong?A look at what might have happened during the year Qui-gon and Obi-wan spent protecting Satine.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Satine Kryze
Comments: 30
Kudos: 43





	1. Kalevala

Obi-wan hitched the rucksack a little higher on his shoulder, lengthening his stride to catch up with Qui-gon. 'Where are we going, Master?'

'I'll tell you on the shuttle, Padawan.'

Obi-wan rolled his eyes and refrained from scowling. Four years he'd been Qui-gon's Padawan, and he was still no closer to bridging the gap between them. Qui-gon didn't seem to trust him a whit. Then again, Obi-wan had been quite rebellious as a youngling. Breaking curfew in the crèche to filch snacks from the kitchens. Reading adventure holobooks on his datapad when he was supposed to be studying. Watching holovids late at night when he was meant to be sleeping. Playing elaborate pranks. Leading rousing games of tag in the corridors of the temple. He would have tried the library, but the only Jedi that scared him more than Master Windu was old Jocasta Nu, the crotchety, sharp-tongued librarian. 'Goodness. It must be quite the high-security mission,' he said dryly.

Qui-gon glanced at Obi-wan from the corner of his eye. The boy was vibrating with curiosity. 'Keep your mind in the present, Obi-wan,' he said evenly. Obi-wan had the makings of a great Jedi. He was intelligent, and despite his rebelliousness as a youngling, remarkably even-keeled. He made odd decisions at times, but Qui-gon chalked it up to Jedi younglings' relative isolation. They were brought to the temple as toddlers, before they could form solid memories of their parents and homeworlds. Once he attained his knighthood, nothing stood in the way of Obi-wan contacting his birth family. There were no real restrictions, save the Jedi Code that admonished its followers to refrain from making emotional attachments. Qui-gon knew a few who had tried to visit, but by then too much time had passed. They were strangers among their own families. It prodded him to once again resolve to approach Master Yoda to overhaul the way they trained younglings. They needed to see how the rest of the galaxy lived. More importantly, they needed to live how the rest of the galaxy lived. It had been mind-bogglingly eye-opening to him as a Padawan. Only when he was a Jedi in his own right did Qui-gon begin to fully understand the enormous privilege in which he'd been raised. He pointed to a shuttle that had clearly seen better days. 'I believe that's our ride.'

Obi-wan appraised the nondescript light freighter with a dubious expression. 'Does it even have lightspeed?'

Qui-gon strode up the ramp. 'It does, and you're making the calculations for hyperspace.' Obi-wan's shoulders straightened a little with pride. Hyperspace calculations were complex, and usually left to droids, if possible. Or the ship's computer. 'And you're going to pilot this thing.'

Obi-wan's eyes lit up. He loved flying and clamored for any opportunity to do it. He patted the hull on his way up the ramp. The old girl wasn't so bad. Oh, sure, she was a bit shabby round the edges, but she did have the sleek lines of Corellian made vessels. From the little he could surmise from what Qui-gon had instructed him to pack, they were meant to travel incognito, so something with the elegant build of Naboolian ships would have made targets of them. As long as pieces of the hull didn't detach during lightspeed, then Obi-wan was relatively confident they would arrive at… Well, wherever they were going in one piece. He stowed his rucksack in a storage compartment, then slid into the pilot's seat. 'Well?'

'Set a course for Mandalore. Kalevala, to be precise. The quickest route.'

Obi-wan's eyebrows shot up. Mandalore! Little wonder they didn't travel as Jedi. The Mandalorians had long institutional memories, and Seekers rarely found younglings among them. Or if they did, their parents refused to allow them to become Jedi. Obi-wan only knew of one Mandalorian Jedi — Tarre Vizsla — the creator of the legendary Darksaber. Obi-wan had only learned the bare outlines of the Jedi-Mandalorian conflict in school so far. It spanned millennia in a vast, complex series of skirmishes and outright war. He was meant to begin studying it this year. As he maneuvered the spacecraft into the never-ending traffic streams of Coruscant, he wondered how long he would be gone. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be a short or easy mission.

Qui-gon waited until they entered hyperspace before turning to Obi-wan. 'Mandalorian clans started fighting again.'

'Hardly a surprise,' Obi-wan said with more than a hint of snark.

'The de facto leader of the New Mandalorians is in danger. We're meant to protect her. A member of the local nobility,' Qui-gon continued as though Obi-wan hadn't spoken.

Obi-wan's heart sank. 'For how long?'

'As long as it takes, my _young_ Padawan.' Qui-gon indicated Obi-wan's clothes. 'You did bring the clothing I suggested, didn't you?'

'Yes, Master.'

'Good. You'll change before we arrive.' Qui-gon handed Obi-wan a datapad. 'I contacted all your instructors. They've provided lectures, texts, everything you'll need to continue your formal schooling while we're gone. They will examine you when we return to Coruscant.' He stood and stretched. 'As for your Jedi training, we'll do what we can when we can. In the meantime, I suggest you use the time to acquaint yourself with Mandalorian culture. We don't want to start a galactic incident on top of a civil war.' He headed for the common area of the freighter. No sense in sitting in the co-pilot's chair watching Obi-wan read a datapad when he could avail himself of the relative comfort of the common area.

Obi-wan tried to hide the disappointment he felt, gazing at the lengthy list of texts and treatises on the datapad. Qui-gon still had yet to advance him into more intricate forms of lightsaber forms, even though Obi-wan could do the basic forms in his sleep and blindfolded. If they were going to be on Mandalore for weeks or months, he doubted they could openly train. He stifled a sigh. Another setback and roadblock. Nor could he hide his dismay at the idea of escorting a Lady Whosis around Mandalore. He would bet the stray credit in his trouser pocket that she was just like Master Nu. Cranky and elderly with a sharp tongue that would give him what she deemed an appropriately vicious verbal lashing at any opportune moment when he made a mistake. And if Qui-gon was anything to go by, Obi-wan seemed to make more mistakes than most Padawans.

He blew out a long breath, and studied the list of texts for the class regarding the history of the Jedi-Mandalorian conflicts. If he was going to live among Mandalorians, he might as well try to understand the source of their antagonism with the Jedi. There was little else to do in hyperspace. He tapped the title of the first book on the list and curled himself into a ball in the pilot's chair, with dismay palpable enough for a non-Force user to sense it. The book was over nine hundred pages long, and the utter aridness of the language in the first paragraph didn't give him much hope for an engaging read.

His first impressions weren't wrong.

The journey to Mandalore took nearly four days. Several times Obi-wan dutifully opened the book, only to find himself nodding off before he could read more than six sentences. He tried everything. Enough caf to make him too jittery to read. Standing up. Pacing the cargo hold. Under the watchful eye of Qui-gon. He finally took the datapad to the cockpit, hoping the bright lights and the constant, low-level whirr of activity from the console would keep him awake.

Qui-gon found him an hour later, sprawled across the chair and sound asleep with a growing damp patch on the shoulder of his tunic. His lips twitched as he craned his head to read the screen of the datapad in Obi-wan's lap. _Well… he made it farther than I did when I tried to read the bloody thing the first time._ He had hoped Master Calletia Salliester had found a new book to use, but she apparently insisted on using the same one from when Qui-gon had been a student in her classroom. No wonder Obi-wan fell asleep. Qui-gon found it to be one of the surest cures in the galaxy for insomnia. 'Obi-wan…' Qui-gon shook his apprentice's shoulder.

Obi-wan sat up with a snorting gasp, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. His fair skin flushed with embarrassment. 'I… I'm…' He straightened his shoulders. 'My apologies, Master.'

Qui-gon inclined his head. 'We'll arrive on Kalevala within the hour. Why don't you go change?'

Obi-wan lurched from the chair, tripping over his own feet, and nearly dropping the datapad. He grabbed his rucksack from the storage compartment and turned to Qui-gon. 'Master, should I…?' He wrapped his Padawan braid around his hand and tugged at it. 'Trim some of it, at least?' His other hand stole to the back of his head. 'If we're supposed to be in disguise…'

'I doubt anyone on Mandalore's seen a Padawan up close in centuries. Certainly not recently enough to identify you as one by your hair. Do what you feel is right.'

Obi-wan frowned. _Do what you feel is right?_ he repeated to himself. _I don't know what's right, Master. That's why I'm asking you!_ There were times when Obi-wan desperately wanted someone to just _tell_ him what to do. He knew he would learn from his mistakes, but this mission seemed critical; and therefore, there was no room for mistakes. He didn't necessarily want to cut off most of his braid. Every inch was a milestone in his path to become a Jedi. 'I'll… I'll keep it. For now.' He pivoted on a heel and went into the cabin he'd claimed at the start.

He stripped off his clothes and pulled on the dark gray trousers and a dark blue sweater with a grey stripe down the front. It was fairly standard clothing for New Mandalorians, according to what he'd read a few days ago. Not wanting to leave Qui-gon waiting, he quickly folded his Jedi garb and stuffed it into his rucksack. He shoved his feet into a pair of low boots, then hurried back to the cockpit, as he hooked his lightsaber to his belt, steeling himself for the inevitable weeks of boredom.

* * *

Obi-wan followed Qui-gon from the landing pad and into the building. Without his Jedi robes, he felt awkward and didn't know what to do with his hands. He settled for folding them together behind his back. Otherwise, he'd start tugging at his braid from sheer nervousness, a habit he was trying to break. At least they kept their lightsabers. His swung from its accustomed place on his belt. The apartment was small, just one room that would serve as a common space during the day and sleeping space at night. He could see a 'fresher through a partially-open door. A tiny kitchen was crammed into one corner, almost like an afterthought. Qui-gon bowed to the trio of people standing on the other side of the room. Obi-wan followed suit, just a fraction of a second after his Master. He studied the trio, a weary, yet watchful middle-aged couple and a girl radiating wary defiance with a mass of pale golden hair tamed into a simple braid down her back and icy blue eyes. 'You're the Jedi?' the woman asked.

'I am Master Qui-gon Jinn.' He beckoned to Obi-wan. 'My Padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi.'

The girl's nose lifted into the air with a haughty light in her eyes. Obi-wan refrained from rolling his own. He'd seen far too many Senate aides puffed up with their own importance on Coruscant. 'That's who the Republic has sent to protect me?' She glared down her long, straight nose at Obi-wan. 'A _boy_?'

Obi-wan stiffened with badly concealed outrage. Who did she think she was calling him a _boy_? He was no boy. He was a Jedi Padawan, thank you very much. Besides, she was probably his age, or if she were older, it wasn't by much. What right did she have to insult him? He didn't care who she was or what rank she claimed to have. He huffed out a breath through his nose, earning him a sharp, admonitory glance from Qui-gon.

'I assure you, my lady, my Padawan is more than capable of assisting with your defense.'

Obi-wan's eyes widened. _My lady?_ Was this who they were to protect?

'I trust he's more useful than he looks,' the girl muttered, making Obi-wan rear back a little.

The man gestured toward the girl. 'Lady… No, I suppose it's Duchess now… Duchess Satine Kryze of Clan Kryze.'

'Just Satine,' she interjected. 'If no one is to know where I am, then referring to me as Duchess is the fastest way to ensure I am discovered.'

The couple turned to her. 'You have our word,' the woman began, 'we will continue the work of your father. And you.'

'One day, Mandalore will be at peace with itself,' the man added.

'When Mandalorians love their children more than they love fighting,' Satine murmured. The couple quickly embraced her, then left, leaving Satine alone with the two Jedi. She studied them for a long moment. The younger one — Obi-wan — gazed at her with open curiosity. She gestured to the cluster of cushioned platforms. 'I don't suppose you'll mind terribly if I sit.' She sank to the edge and folded her legs beneath her. 'It's been a rather trying few days.' She glanced up. 'What should I call you?'

'Qui-gon and Obi-wan will suffice,' Qui-gon told her, taking one of the other platforms. 'If you want, we can leave right now, or we can wait until morning. I have a contact on Alderaan…'

'Leave?' Satine's voice cracked like a whip. 'Why should I leave Mandalore?'

'The opposition's hired bounty hunters. The sooner we get you off Mandalore, the better.'

'I can't just leave.'

'Do you want to be a martyr?' Obi-wan asked. 'Because that's what will happen if you stay.'

'Of course I don't,' Satine snapped. 'I want my people to learn they don't have to live like this!' She pointed to the high, narrow window, where the glare of a distant explosion lit up the transparisteel.

Qui-gon indicated the rolled-up sleeping mats. 'Why don't we all get some sleep? Head out first thing in the morning?' The last thing he wanted was to be trapped on a ship with two fractious teenagers, even if one was a Padawan and supposedly in control of his emotions. He went to tug a mat from its cubicle. 'I think you ought to meditate first,' he said in a low voice to Obi-wan. 'Besides, you had a lovely nap before we arrived.'

Obi-wan's shoulders hunched with chagrin. 'Yes, Master.' He rushed to assist Qui-gon with the bedding. They arranged the mats so theirs were between Satine's and the door. It wasn't much, but it would give Satine enough time to barricade herself in the 'fresher, should the need arise. But Obi-wan was confident he and Qui-gon could handle a bounty hunter. Satine tossed a pillow onto each mat, then spread a thick duvet over each one. Obi-wan was grateful for that. He could feel a distinct chill in the air that had nothing to do with Satine's response to them.

He removed his boots and settled on his mat, letting the sounds of Qui-gon and Satine sliding under their duvets fade into the background. He was glad they weren't planning to stay in Mandalore. The sheer amount of pain and suffering made his brows knit in a pained frown. So much killing. Obi-wan could feel the heaving plea for a cessation of the violence. She had a chance. Not now. Not yet. But sooner than she might believe. He let his senses drift toward the Light. It was there. It always had been. The second he touched it, the Light flooded him with an aura of calm certainty. The Light was the beginning, middle, and end. In the Light, he found clarity. His pulse and breathing slowed. Despite the dark room, he could see everything, outlined in glittering streams. Qui-gon was a shining beacon in the Light. And so was Satine. She couldn't sense it, but the Light side of the Force flowed through her as surely as it did through him. Obi-wan knew the Force lived in all things, but he'd never expected to see it shine in a non-Force user with the radiance of a Jedi.

Obi-wan opened his eyes. Satine stared at him in the gloom. He nodded at her, and retrieved his datapad, thumbing it on. He set a timer for the likely event that he would fall asleep if his book held true to form. 'What are you doing?' she whispered.

'Studying,' he replied, sliding under his duvet and unhooking his lightsaber. He set it reverently next to his pillow, then flopped onto his stomach and propped the datapad on the pillow. 'I still have lessons.'

'About?'

He gave the datapad an embarrassed look. 'The Jedi-Mandalorian conflicts.'

'Coincidence?'

'Probably.' Obi-wan waved a hand at the datapad. 'I'm sure it's interesting, but I'm afraid I keep falling asleep when I read this.'

Satine reached for the datapad before Obi-wan could stop her. 'It definitely takes great skill to make a topic with as many twists and turns as the Jedi-Mandalorian conflicts as boring as afternoon tea with your maiden aunt,' she declared after scanning the screen. 'No wonder it puts you to sleep.'

'Yes, well…' He took the datapad back. 'I'm sure it's much more interesting in a larger setting.'

'Good night, Obi-wan.' Satine rolled to face away from him, and he presently heard the deep, even breathing that signalled she slept. Less than ten minutes later, so did he.

* * *

Obi-wan stared out of the viewports at the surface of Kalevala. It was a desolate hellscape of a wasteland, dotted with huge biodomes that made living there possible. The central planet, the eponymous Mandalore, was just as bad, if not worse. They'd arrived under the cover of darkness the day before, and he hadn't been paying attention to the landscape. Obi-wan grudgingly admired the resilience of the Mandalorians. The same determination that made them fearsome warriors led them to survive on the ruin of their planet. That same determination burned in Satine. Obi-wan glanced over his shoulder. She sat strapped into one of the other seats in the cockpit, gazing at Madalore as if she'd never see it again.

'If you spent more time paying attention to flying this thing, instead of contemplating the galaxy, we might get to Alderaan faster,' Satine said tartly.

Obi-wan bit back his retort and entered the calculations for lightspeed to Alderaan.


	2. A Small Act of Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three spherical droids floated around Obi-wan, who held his lightsaber in front of him. The light it emitted gave his face an otherworldly pallor. He deflected orange bolts in a whirl of cream-colored linen and pale blue light. She eased around the door, transfixed. The droids paused, assessing the intrusion. They zoomed toward her. At the same moment, Obi-wan leapt into the air and launched himself into a backflip. As he uncoiled his body, one booted foot kicked out and sent a droid flying across the hangar where it crashed into a wall. He landed lightly in front of Satine and thrust his free hand toward a second droid. It too soared to the opposite side of the hangar and landed on the ground with a crunching sound of crumpled metal. The last one sent a bright orange bolt at them, and he deflected it back to the droid. It dropped to their feet, smoking. It was only then that Satine noticed Obi-wan wore a blindfold. 'How…?' she breathed.
> 
> Obi-wan pulled the blindfold off and mopped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his tunic, panting a little. 'I told you I was good.'

Alderaan was beautiful from space. It was everything Mandalore was not. Lush, impossibly green and blue, and most of all, peaceful. Satine had grown up admiring the Alderaanians for their pacifist ways in a galaxy that seemed to thrive on conflict. Ironically, it made her miss Mandalore that much more. She glanced at Qui-gon, sitting serenely in the co-pilot's seat, content with allowing Obi-wan to pilot the ship. And he was good at it. Not that she'd ever tell him so. She leaned closer to Qui-gon. 'Won't people know we're here?'

'Not if the transponder isn't working,' Obi-wan said. 'And strangely, ours seems to have malfunctioned shortly after we left Coruscant. I suppose we'll have to fix it. Eventually.'

Qui-gon's hand swept in an arc near Obi-wan's head. 'You don't need to repair the transponder,' he intoned.

Obi-wan guffawed. 'You know that doesn't work on me, Master.'

Satine's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. _What was the point of that? Was it some sort of Jedi sorcery?_ 'What doesn't work on him?'

Qui-gon seemed embarrassed by her question. Which he was. The answer didn't put the Jedi in the best light. 'It's a technique practiced by Force users,' he began, 'to, ah, _persuade_ a person of a course of action that benefits everyone.'

'It doesn't work on just anyone,' Obi-wan interjected. He paused, searching for a word more palatable than "weak-minded." He rubbed his chin as he thought. 'If someone's strength of will is not very developed, they're much more susceptible to it.'

Satine leaned forward, brows drawn together. 'What's to stop you from using it to induce someone to do something that isn't in — how did you put it? — everyone's best interests?'

'We're Jedi,' Obi-wan replied, as if it explained everything, which it did to him.

'You're sentient beings,' Satine scoffed. 'Sentient beings don't always do what's ethically or morally right.'

'There are ethical considerations,' Qui-gon told Satine. 'A Padawan like Obi-wan wouldn't use it without the guidance of their Master. We could try to tell a bounty hunter you aren't who you are. If they have the right temperament, they'll think you're entirely someone else.' He tried to give her a reassuring smile. 'It takes years to learn how to use the Force this way.' He offered Satine a reassuring smile. ‘I highly doubt it would work on you.’

Satine rubbed the space between her eyebrows, less assured than before. What was the Republic thinking to send Jedi to protect her? The distrust between Mandalore and the Jedi spanned centuries, millennia, even. Unless someone wanted them to fail, so she was out of the way, and the remnants of the warring clans could take over… It was a possibility. She eyed the Jedi with more than her customary wariness. She became aware that Qui-gon spoke to her. 'I'm sorry…?'

'I said you'll need to learn some self-defense techniques,' he repeated.

'I most certainly will not!' she said with great indignation. 'I am a pacifist.'

Obi-wan's hands tightened on the controls. 'It is possible to defend one's self and not engage in needless violence,' he remarked, his eyes fixed on the console.

'Says the peacekeeper who wields a laser sword.'

'Enough,' Qui-gon said sternly. His gaze bore into Satine's. 'There are methods that do not employ violence. Make it more difficult for someone to take you unnoticed. In the event both Obi-wan and I become incapacitated.'

Satine pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut. 'Fine,' she said through clenched teeth.

'Good. We're going to land soon. We'll continue this conversation later.'

Obi-wan waited until he heard the hiss of Satine's cabin door opening. 'For a pacifist, she certainly has a temper,' he commented in a low voice.

'And for a Jedi, you've allowed her to get under your skin, Padawan.'

Obi-wan had the grace to look abashed. He certainly sniped quite a bit more when he was around Satine. 'I'll try harder to control my feelings, Master.' He deftly maneuvered the freighter into the atmosphere and headed to the coordinates Qui-gon had provided. 'Why did the Senate send us to watch over her? It seems unnecessarily antagonistic.'

'Jedi in general, or the two of us?'

'Jedi.'

Qui-gon shifted in his seat. At first glance, it was a rather unorthodox decision, given the adversarial history between the Jedi and Mandalore. 'We serve the Republic, Obi-wan. Mandalore is part of the Republic. And Jedi are the least likely to find themselves in a position to be corrupted by Satine's enemies. She's safer with us than with someone else.'

Obi-wan tilted his head in acknowledgement. 'Then why you and me in particular?'

'Think, Obi-wan,' Qui-gon responded. 'How many Masters were on Coruscant, ready to go at a moment's notice? A Master that isn't on the Council or had another assignment?'

'A handful, I suppose…'

'And how many have a Padawan?'

'Ten… fifteen…' Obi-wan shrugged.

'Try six. How many have a Padawan roughly the same age as the duchess?'

Comprehension dawned on Obi-wan’s face. 'Oh.'

'Not only that, a Master and Padawan who are both human, so we don't look quite so out of place around Satine.'

'Yes, master. I understand now.'

Qui-gon pointed to a low building, half-hidden in the mountains and surrounded by towering evergreen trees. 'There's the hangar.'

'Is that the Alderaanian royal crest?' Obi-wan asked, craning his head to peer out of the side viewport at the shuttle parked outside the hangar.

'I know the viceroy. He's married to the queen.'

'Who don't you know?'

'That, Obi-wan, is a long and varied list,' Qui-gon chuckled. He sat back as they descended into the hangar and the doors over head clanged shut. They met Satine at the ramp and walked into the hangar, where a tall man swathed in a dark grey cloak met them. 'Viceroy,' Qui-gon said by way of a greeting.

'Master Jinn.' The viceroy inclined his head, then his face split into a wide grin. 'Who are your tagalongs?'

'Obi-wan, Satine, this is Viceroy Bail Organa. Bail, my Padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.' Satine blanched a little at Qui-gon's use of her real identity. Qui-gon's brow tilted up. 'The simplest gesture of kindness can fill the galaxy with hope,' he told her. 'Bail is trustworthy. We would be elsewhere, otherwise.'

'Come on.' Bail led them through a short corridor into an airy house. 'The kitchen's fully stocked. Bedrooms on this end of the house are ready for you. One of them has a direct entrance to the hangar through a hidden door in the closet. HoloNet connection's encrypted, so it can't be traced here.' He winked at Qui-gon. 'Royal prerogative. You can have free run of the library. Hangar ought to be spacious enough for you and your Padawan to train,' he added.

'I'd say you've done too much, but you'd only respond you haven't done enough,' Qui-gon quipped.

'Anything to help someone in need.'

Qui-gon gestured to Obi-wan and Satine. 'Why don't the two of you go upstairs and settle in? We'll have dinner in half an hour,' he said, noting the blinking light of the cooker. Whatever was in it would finish cooking soon. He waited until Obi-wan and Satine's footfalls faded and leaned against the counter in the kitchen. 'You have my undying gratitude for this.'

'Stay as long as you need it. We can come up with a decent cover story.' Bail ran a hand over his jaw. 'You'll have to disguise the girl. Is it possible to claim she's also a Padawan? If you ever go into the city, that is.'

'It would be easier to disguise Obi-wan and myself.' Qui-gon folded his arms over his chest. Perhaps if they ever had to hide out on an Outer Rim planet where people were less familiar with the customs of the Jedi, it might work to disguise Satine as a Padawan. They could use a set of Obi-wan's spare robes. His slender frame meant she wouldn't be swallowed by them.

'I'll bring up some extra clothing for all of you. Nothing too elaborate.' Bail opened a cupboard door and took down a set of plates. 'Breha has a sister who ought to have some things that will fit Satine.' He opened a drawer and removed cutlery. 'Anything else?'

'A stiff drink?' Qui-gon chuckled. 'Spending days trapped on a small freighter with surly teenagers would be enough to test the patience of even Master Yoda.' He ran a hand over his head. 'There is one thing…'

Upstairs, Obi-wan and Satine poked their heads into the bedrooms, both dumbstruck by the sheer size and luxury of them. What passed for luxury on Madalore didn't extend to spacious common areas, beds with fluffy duvets, or 'freshers with bathtubs large enough for a truly decadent soak. For Obi-wan the bedrooms were almost too big. The dormitories for younglings and Padawans were divided into suites with six tiny sleeping cells around a common area with two 'freshers that held the bare minimum of a toilet, a sink, and a shower cubicle. His sleeping cell back on Coruscant was just large enough for his narrow bed, a small wardrobe, and a scrap of a desk with a chair. The Jedi living aesthetic was one of asceticism, even for the Masters. Obi-wan cleared his throat. 'I think Qui-gon ought to have the room closest to the hangar,' he ventured. 'If we can get out through there, then surely someone could come in.'

Satine's eyes flicked to the two smaller rooms, connected by a 'fresher. 'So that leaves those two for us.'

'I'll take the one on the left,' Obi-wan declared. 'It makes the most sense from a defensive position. You will have Qui-gon on one side and me on the other.'

'You're awfully certain of your abilities,' she said pointedly.

Obi-wan drew himself up straight. 'Because I'm good. Better than good.'

Satine leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom assigned to her and crossed her arms over her chest. 'You know what they say about pride, don't you?'

'Overweening pride leads one into a path of destruction,' Obi-wan began, but Satine cut him off.

'Exactly.' She stepped back into her bedroom and shut the door in Obi-wan's face.

'I am not overconfident!' Obi-wan snarled at the door before stalking into his own room.

Satine didn't hear him. The view from the windows took her breath away. She gaped out of the them, feeling rather like an Outer Rim hick. In her defense, she'd never seen this much green before. The parks inside the domes on Mandalore were insignificant compared to the carpets of greenery that surrounded the them on Alderaan. Mandalore used to look like this. She'd seen old holograms of it. Rolling green hills and thickly forested stands of evergreens. If only Mandalore could stop fighting itself long enough… Repairing the ecological damage would take generations of effort. _I just need time_ , she told herself, but time was not on her side.

* * *

Satine picked at the unfamiliar food. In just a few short months her entire world turned upside down. Just when she thought she regained her bearings, something shifted beneath her feet. She was on a strange planet, sleeping in a stranger's house, traveling in the company of two strange men, who were her people's sworn enemies. And now this… meal… Not a single thing on her plate existed on Mandalore. She noticed Obi-wan's glances from the corner of his eyes, and hastily shoved a bite into her mouth that she swallowed without tasting. Bail leaned across the small table. 'If there's something you'd prefer to eat, let me know. I'll bring it up.'

'I don't want to cause trouble.'

Obi-wan coughed into his napkin and Satine glared at him, hooking her foot around the leg of her chair so she didn't kick him in the ankle. _I'm a pacifist. I'm a pacifist,_ she chanted to herself. Although at this moment, she might be willing to revisit her principles if it wiped the ever-present smirk off the young Jedi's face.

Qui-gon pushed his chair back. 'Obi-wan.' He gestured to a door that led to a small garden, and gave his apprentice a pointed look. They could meditate and leave Bail and Satine to have their conversation in private.

Bail picked up his wineglass and studied the surface until the back door closed with a _whoosh_. 'Qui-gon tells me you don't want to learn to defend yourself.'

'I don't wish to engage in a course of action that will lead to more violence.'

'It's the smart decision. There are self-defensive maneuvers that won't violate your nonviolent stance. It won't do your world any good if you die before you can set them on a new path.'

Satine shoved some of the food around her plate. 'Was your world born into violence? Where differences of opinion are resolved at the muzzle of the blaster?'

'No.'

'My parents committed themselves to the principles of pacifism in response to the wars on Madalore. When I was old enough to understand why, I did as well.'

'Principles are nice in theory,' Bail said. 'But they don't necessarily protect your people.'

'And what kind of leader will I be if I abandon my principles because it's inconvenient?' Satine shoved her plate away.

'And pacifism doesn't mean you have to be passive in the face of danger!' Bail closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. 'What would you be willing to learn?'

'I don't want to maim or kill anyone.'

'I can help with that.' Bail reached into a pocket and slid a small blaster-like device across the table.

Satine picked it up and turned it thoughtfully in her hand. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand. 'What is this?'

'It's a disruptor.'

'What's the difference between this and a blaster?'

'Don't let its size fool you. It will stop droids in their tracks. It can disable a blaster, if you aim it just right. Won't do a thing against sentient beings. Qui-gon and Obi-wan can help you learn to use it. And there are techniques you can do to make yourself an inconvenient captive.' He steepled his fingers together. 'If I had a daughter, I would make damn sure she learned them, even though Alderaan embraces a pacifist philosophy.' He let out a slow breath. 'Would you be willing to learn to use a blaster?' he ventured. 'On stun, of course. It could mean the difference between life and death for you.'

'I… I'll have to think about that.'

Bail nodded. He pushed his chair back and began to clear the plates from the table. 'I've got some books and materials you might find educational. Mostly used in the Apprentice Legislature and the Legislature Youth Program. When you're able to return to Mandalore, you'll have an idea of what it takes to actually govern.' He set the plates into the sink. 'I'll move them onto a datapad and give it to you in the morning.'

'Why are you doing this?'

'Like Qui-gon said — a small act of kindness can fill a galaxy with hope. And if anyone needs hope right now, Duchess, it's you.'

* * *

The glass landed on the table in front of Qui-gon with a _thump_. 'Here's that stiff drink I promised you.' Qui-gon picked it up and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. Bail set the decanter on front of him. 'She'll do the self defense lessons. Nothing that will cause long-term damage, though. Definitely nothing that could kill.'

Qui-gon grunted, and poured himself another drink. 'Better than nothing.'

'I opened an account for you under an alias. If you find yourself on populated worlds, you should be able to access it to acquire food, shelter, and fuel for your ship. It can't be traced back to the Jedi or Alderaan.'

Qui-gon eyed Bail over the rim of the glass. 'You have a remarkable gift for subterfuge.'

'I'm a politician.'

Qui-gon laughed. 'I have some funds from the Republic, but if this takes months... I'll try to save your credits for emergencies.' He sipped the whiskey. 'As I said, you've done far too much.'

Bail set a small sphere on the map reader. 'I've also made a list of possible systems where you can hide out. I know your first instinct is to go Outer Rim, but you'd stand out. Newcomers and all.' He pointed to one of worlds outlined in red. 'I would suggest hopping around a few uninhabited worlds between stops to pick up supplies and refuel.' He studied the map. 'Mid Rim systems are best. Not too populated, but enough people pass through so you can go unnoticed.' He circled a planet on the Western Reaches. 'Takodana. Maz Kanata will offer one night of refuge if you're in trouble, free of charge. After that, she'll make you pay, but you will be able to.' He glanced at Qui-gon. 'Or she might forgo her usual fee because you're Jedi. Go to her if you need to hide.'

'I'll keep that in mind.' Qui-gon gazed at the map, already planning their next move. He didn’t know Maz Kanata personally, but he knew of her and her palace, built on the site of a battle between the Sith and the Jedi. While not a Jedi, she knew the Force and Light side. He added Takodana to his mental list, resolving to only use it as a last resort. He didn’t want to endanger anyone else if he didn’t have to.

* * *

The door to the hangar was ajar, letting the sound of blaster bolts and the thrum of lightsabers into the kitchen. As there were no shouts of alarm from either Obi-wan or Qui-gon, Satine peered around the edge. Three spherical droids floated around Obi-wan, who held his lightsaber in front of him. The light it emitted gave his face an otherworldly pallor. He deflected orange bolts in a whirl of cream-colored linen and pale blue light. She eased around the door, transfixed. The droids paused, assessing the intrusion. They zoomed toward her. At the same moment, Obi-wan leapt into the air and launched himself into a backflip. As he uncoiled his body, one booted foot kicked out and sent a droid flying across the hangar where it crashed into a wall. He landed lightly in front of Satine and thrust his free hand toward a second droid. It too soared to the opposite side of the hangar and landed on the ground with a crunching sound of crumpled metal. The last one sent a bright orange bolt at them, and he deflected it back to the droid. It dropped to their feet, smoking. It was only then that Satine noticed Obi-wan wore a blindfold. 'How…?' she breathed.

Obi-wan pulled the blindfold off and mopped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his tunic, panting a little. 'I told you I was good.' The only warning he had of the incipient attack was the hum of Qui-gon's lightsaber as it ignited. He dropped the blindfold and leapt to the side, the hilt of his lightsaber spinning around his hand. He met his Master's blade with his own, knees almost buckling under the intensity of Qui-gin’s attack.

'Never let your guard down, Obi-wan,' Qui-gon admonished.

Satine sank to the steps that led into the hangar from the kitchen, watching wide-eyed while the two Jedi sparred. Qui-gon was clearly the better fighter, as he had experience, height, and weight on his side, but Obi-wan darted in and out of Qui-gon's range with the balletic grace of a dancer. Despite the ease with with Qui-gon and Obi-wan moved, their faces showed the strain of exertion. If she hadn't observed their fight, she would never have believed it. Mandalorian history spoke of Jedi magic and wizardry, and what they were capable of doing certainly looked like magic. It was little wonder the Jedi were the only ones the Mandalorians ever feared. They moved faster than two humans ought to move, ducking, dodging, and spinning, their lightsabers in constant motion. It appeared as though they stopped just short of injuring each other, and deliberately so. The bout only ended when Qui-gon tripped Obi-wan, and his blade hovered just over Obi-wan's heart.

Qui-gon shut off his lightsaber and offered a hand to Obi-wan, pulling him to his feet. 'Go get cleaned up and meet me in the library in half an hour. You have lessons.' He glanced at Satine. 'And so do you. Bail left a datapad for you on the desk.' He gestured at Obi-wan. 'You're in change of meals today.'

'What?' Obi-wan's face creased in a perturbed frown. 'But I don't know…'

'And now's the time to learn, my young apprentice,' Qui-gon responded in a tone that brooked no arguments. 'You won't always have the Temple to provide for you.' He gazed at Obi-wan with a quizzical expression. 'You have had survival training, have you not?'

'Of course, Master.'

'Then you should have the necessary skills to prepare simple meals.' Qui-gon bent to pick up one of the training droids.

Obi-wan stifled a sigh, and sidled past Satine with a cocked eyebrow. _See?_ it said, _I told you I was good_. She rolled her eyes with a huff and followed him into the house. She was willing to concede that he was… good enough. She dearly wanted to continue thinking of him as an arrogant ass, but when one could back up their statements like Obi-wan just did, it wasn't arrogance. It was merely speaking the truth.

* * *

The next few days settled into a routine of sorts. Qui-gon assigned them chores and created a structured schedule from breakfast to dinner. Training with Obi-wan before breakfast, then lessons in the library. Chores after lunch, then Obi-wan disappeared with Qui-gon for Jedi training. Satine usually took a book to a sunny alcove. She'd been somewhat surprised to find a jumble of frivolous holobooks in the library, but she supposed even kings and queens needed a distraction. And Satine was a deeply romantic individual at heart. Not that she'd ever admit that out loud to someone like Obi-wan Kenobi.

Still, they were going to be in each other's company for the foreseeable future. She might as well get to know him as more than an annoyance to be endured. Satine changed the sheets on her bed, wondering if Qui-gon and Obi-wan merely flicked their fingers to strip and make their own beds. She wanted to learn more about this Force they spoke of, but didn't quite know how to ask without looking like an ignorant rube. It wasn't as though it was discussed in great detail on Mandalore. Perhaps once they got to know each other a little better. She stuffed her sheets into the laundering unit and roamed the upper floor until she came upon Obi-wan, sitting in the wide sill of a window with good light. He held a threaded needle in one hand, and one of his tunics in the other. 'Are you busy?'

'Ripped the hem out yesterday during training,' he said absently, lifting the tunic. 'Although I think Qui-gon did it on purpose, so I'd have to practice mending my clothes,’ he added with a wry smile. He jabbed the needle into the fabric, and began the painstaking task of repairing the torn hem.

Satine perched on the edge of the windowsill and watched him stitch for a few minutes. He was an enigma. Most Mandalorians were open holobooks to Satine, but Obi-wan remained a mystery. He could be aloof and dispassionate one second, but behave like an overeager tooka in the next. He clearly hungered for even the faintest praise from Qui-gon, but pretended it didn’t matter. Satine tried and rejected several conversational openings for being too direct, too trite, too invasive. She slid back into the windowsill a little more, and decided to start with the basics. ‘Where's your homeworld?'

'I'm told it's Stewjon,' Obi-wan said, without looking up from his task.

Satine's brows knit together in a perplexed frown. Did he not know his own homeworld? 'What does that mean? You're _told_ …?'

Obi-wan peered at the needle in his hand, then down at the snagged him of his tunic, choosing his next words carefully. 'My records in the Jedi Temple say I was born on Stewjon. The eldest son in my family.’ He studied his handiwork so far, and continued to stitch the hem back into place. ‘Most younglings are taken to the Temple when they’re infants or just a year or two old. I was three, and by Jedi standards, that’s almost too old.’

Satine gawped at him. ‘Th-that’s barbaric!’ she stuttered. ‘You’re just... just babies...’ She shook her head. ‘Do you even know your parents? Your siblings?’

‘I... no...’ Obi-wan tied a knot in the thread and bit it off. ‘The Jedi Code forbids attachments,’ he explained. ‘That’s why we’re brought to the Temple at such a young age, before we can begin to form emotional attachments to our families.’

What kind of culture demanded that a child never know a mother’s kiss or a father’s embrace? Satine gave him a pitying look. 'Does the Jedi Code forbid emotions?'

‘It wasn’t a cold or sterile upbringing,’ he said, feeling his shoulders stiffen in a defensive posture. ‘There was always warmth and affection. I never went hungry or felt I wasn’t well-cared for.’ He folded his tunic with uncommon diligence, putting his thoughts into order. _There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity…_ he reminded himself. ‘It’s considered a great honor to send your child to the Jedi,’ he added in a low voice, his throat tight. 'And no, the Jedi Code does not forbid emotions. It's… It's complicated…' He clambered to his feet. 'Excuse me.' He darted down the corridor, thinking of Siri Tachi. He had fancied himself madly in love with her, and she with him. They used to hold each other's hand under the table at the Temple during the midday meal. They thought no one was the wiser, but Obi-wan noticed an increased uptick in the number of conversations — some more one-sided than others — regarding emotional attachments, until their collective guilt put a stop to it.

It wasn't that Obi-wan wanted to dodge Satine's questions, it was only that they brought up all the questions he had about the Order and the Jedi Code. And how could he serve the Order when he questioned the bedrock of its tenets?


	3. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan's nose crinkled with evident distaste. ‘Master, really? Dancing?’
> 
> ‘Reinforces your footwork for your saber technique,’ Qui-gon retorted. ‘And it’s all about nonverbal communication. If you and Satine are to work as a team, you need to learn to read each other’s movements and react accordingly.’ He nodded to himself. ‘We’ll start after breakfast tomorrow. There’s bound to be a few vids on the HoloNet we can use.’
> 
> Satine cleared her throat. ‘I know a few,’ she admitted. ‘Folk dances, mostly, but they have their roots in fighting as part of a group...’. Her cheeks flushed and she gave them an embarrassed half shrug. There wasn’t much in Mandalorian culture that didn’t revolve around fighting.
> 
> ‘Good.’ Qui-gon gestured to the door. ‘Perhaps you can show me while Obi-wan attends to his lessons.’ He strode into the house, leaving Obi-wan glaring with icy blue mutiny at Satine.
> 
> ‘Dancing...’ he muttered. ‘Kriff me...’

The tiny spheres danced around Satine and Obi-wan. One of them sent a thin red bolt at her. She dodged it, but it hit the hand holding the disruptor. Her numb fingers twitched and the disruptor fell to the floor. 'Karabast,' she muttered, shaking her hand, trying to coax some feeling back into it.

Obi-wan shoved her aside to deflect a series of bolts away from them. She stumbled and landed hard on her bottom. 'Try actually aiming at them next time,' he said irritably.

'I'm trying,' Satine snapped, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear while scrambling to her feet. She dusted off the seat of her trousers, scowling at Obi-wan like he was the slime on a brackish pond.

'Again,' Qui-gon said dispassionately, hands on his hips. Obi-wan recognized it as a sure sign his Master's patience was wearing thin. 'You have to learn to work together.' He made a small gesture at the disruptor, and it flew back into Satine's hand. He then motioned for her to trade places with him. 'Like this.' He stood back-to-back with Obi-wan and activated the spheres, then his lightsaber. He and Obi-wan didn't quite mesh well as a fighting unit yet, but they could do something like this without too much effort. They moved in tandem, deflecting bolts to dissipate harmlessly on the ceiling, whirling to a rhythm only they could hear. After a few minutes, Qui-gon deactivated the spheres.

Satine picked up one of the fallen spheres, turning it over in her hands, and joined Obi-wan and Qui-gon in the center. ‘It’s like dancing,’ Satine remarked, adding a little twirl that sent her to Obi-wan’s other side.

Obi-wan recognized the light in Qui-gon’s eyes with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Dancing?’ his Master drawled. Qui-gon circled Obi-wan and Satine, studying them with such intensity, Satine felt like he could see into the depths of her soul. ‘Not a bad idea,’ he mused.

Obi-wan's nose crinkled with evident distaste. ‘Master, really? Dancing?’

‘Reinforces your footwork for your saber technique,’ Qui-gon retorted. ‘And it’s all about nonverbal communication. If you and Satine are to work as a team, you need to learn to read each other’s movements and react accordingly.’ He nodded to himself. ‘We’ll start after breakfast tomorrow. There’s bound to be a few vids on the HoloNet we can use.’

Satine cleared her throat. ‘I know a few,’ she admitted. ‘Folk dances, mostly, but they have their roots in fighting as part of a group...’. Her cheeks flushed and she gave them an embarrassed half shrug. There wasn’t much in Mandalorian culture that didn’t revolve around fighting.

‘Good.’ Qui-gon gestured to the door. ‘Perhaps you can show me while Obi-wan attends to his lessons.’ He strode into the house, leaving Obi-wan glaring with icy blue mutiny at Satine.

‘Dancing...’ he muttered. ‘Kriff me...’

Satine grinned. ‘Is that an offer?’ Obi-wan's eyes widened, startled at her sudden flirtatious tone. She wound the end of his Padawan braid around one finger. ‘In your better dreams, Obi-wan,' she murmured, patting his cheek. Satine sauntered off, missing the deep flush that crept up the back of Obi-wan’s neck and his sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t thought of it before, but he certainly did now. His fertile imagination, fuelled by numerous late night holodramas and more than one sexually explicit holobook, went into hyperspace. He’d kept one book in particular tucked under his pillow, open to a specific passage. It was all too easy to imagine doing those things to Satine right now.

'Obi-wan!' Qui-gon called out from the kitchen. 'Breakfast is almost ready.'

Obi-wan started. How long had he stood there, letting his imagination run wild? He hoped the shower cubicle had a setting to make the water as frigid as possible. His hand moved to the front of his tunic and he tugged at the hem to ensure it hid a potentially embarrassing situation before heading into the house, reciting the Jedi Code to himself, hoping to quell the sudden erection. Unfortunately, his cock didn't seem to think very highly of the Code, straining against the front of his trousers. Obi-wan was mortified. He slowly climbed the stairs, muttering under his breath, 'Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force…' He recited it over and over until he came to the door his bedroom. The 'fresher was mercifully empty, but the delicate floral scent of the soap Satine used drifted from the partially open door and wafted around his head. It was not helping the current state of things. 

Once he'd locked his bedroom door, Obi-wan stripped off his sweaty clothing and strode into the ‘fresher, locking the doors on either side. He wasn't about to take any chances. He stepped into the shower cubicle and turned on the water. He let it pour over him for a few moments, nearly whimpering, then steadied himself by bracing an open hand on the wall. His other hand slid down, fingers wrapping around his cock. It wasn't going to take long. It never did, and he wasn't one to prolong the process. His toes curled against the tile and his body bowed. Obi-wan turned his face to the side, pressing his mouth against his arm to muffle the sounds he made as came. His arms hung limply at his sides while he let the water sluice away the evidence. He tilted his face to the spray overhead. He'd never thought of his cock as having a mind of its own before, but it certainly acted independently of his own feelings regarding Satine Kryze. 'That can't happen again,' he said quietly, but sternly, as though his body would actually pay attention.

In the kitchen, Qui-gon cast a mildly concerned glance overhead, then transferred it to the bowl on the table, its porridge congealing into an unappetizing clump. Obi-wan wasn't one to dawdle when food was on the line. The boy seemed to eat half his body weight on a daily basis. Satine had already showered, dressed, eaten her breakfast, and ensconced herself in the study with her lessons. He was on the verge of heading upstairs to chivvy his apprentice downstairs when he heard Obi-wan's footfalls on the thickly carpeted stairs.

Obi-wan slunk into the kitchen and slid into the chair in front of his now-cold breakfast. Qui-gon frowned, studying his apprentice over the rim of his mug as Obi-wan shoveled porridge into his mouth so fast Qui-gon marvelled he didn't choke. The boy's cheeks were flushed, and he radiated shame that he didn't bother to try and hide. He felt he deserved some sort of chastisement for… _Oh…_ Qui-gon coughed as he inhaled a sip of tea. _So that's what's got his undershorts in a knot._ He casually poured himself another cup of tea and wandered to the table, sitting next to Obi-wan. 'It's not against the Code,' he murmured, watching raindrops patter against the windows. 'What you've done. You needn't punish yourself. Or seek it from me.'

Obi-wan's ears turned so red, Qui-gon fancied he could feel the heat radiating from them. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' He slouched further down into the chair.

'You're at an age when that sort of thing is completely normal. And if you're determined to interpret the Code to require celibacy, it's a perfectly valid option to —'

'Please stop.' Obi-wan buried his face in his hands. This was beyond humiliating.

'I don't know many Padawans that don't —'

Obi-wan stuffed the last bite of porridge into his mouth and stood, scuttling to the sink. He deposited his bowl into it. 'Excuse me, Master,' he muttered, not meeting Qui-gon's eyes. 'I have lessons…' He fled from the kitchen and headed to the study.

Satine occupied a large, round armchair near a window. 'You're late,' she murmured in a lofty voice.

'There was…' Obi-wan snatched his datapad from the charging cradle on the corner of the desk. 'An unavoidable delay.'

'Is that what we're calling interminable showers these days?' she scoffed.

Obi-wan bit back a retort, then stalked to the other side of the study and flung himself into another chair. The Force only knew how long they would have to tolerate one another's company. It wouldn't do to constantly snipe at her. He didn't need to give Qui-gon yet another reason to regret taking him on as an apprentice. He pulled up the list of the subjects he was meant to study for the academic term. Calculus, advanced xenobiology, laws of the Republic, and the Jedi-Mandalorian conflicts. He could do the calculus and xenobiology with both hands tied behind his back. He enjoyed the study of laws, but all the loopholes and twists and turns aggravated him to no end, and he often ended up muttering some of the more colorful curses in Huttese he'd picked up from Dax down at the diner. People who wrote laws never seemed to have to abide by them. Or suffer the consequences of a poorly written one. He gave the reading list for the Jedi-Mandalore conflict a baleful glare. The conflict had fascinated him as a youngling and he'd jumped at the chance to study it further. If only the introductory reading wasn't so dry… He sighed and opened the accursed tome. He'd managed to make inroads into the text in the last few days, but not as quickly as he wanted. He never could understand how the author managed to make such a rich period of history as arid as a desert planet. Obi-wan found the his marked place in the book, and settled down to read.

And promptly fell asleep.

Satine stifled a giggle. She could set a chrono by this. Every morning, Obi-wan dutifully opened the history book, and within minutes was fast asleep. She crept to the other side of the room, and skimmed a few paragraphs over his shoulder, wondering if the writing had improved since she first glanced at it. _This is terrible_ , she thought, her nose crinkling. She'd always enjoyed history, but didn't understand the need for so many historians to suck the marrow out of it until it was a desiccated pile of words that caught no one's interest. She continued to read, snorting to herself every now and then at the skill it took to turn millennia of conflict into drudgery. Then she noticed the ultimate outrage. The translation of Mando'a was woefully inadequate, if not inaccurate. ' _Di'kutla!'_ she muttered, forcefully enough to wake Obi-wan.

The sight of Satine hovering sent him flailing and he fell from the chair. Luckily, the chair was low to the ground and he didn’t have far to fall. ' _E chu ta!_ ' he grunted, rubbing his backside. Obi-wan glanced up at Satine. Her nose pinched with annoyance. 'What?'

'All right,' Satine ground out through clenched teeth. 'I'll help you, but only because that book is a travesty.'

'Help me with what?'

'That book. I'll read it with you.' Satine strode back to her chair. 'And I'll teach you Mando'a. The translations aren't worth the spit of a Hutt.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm tired of listening to you snore when you fall asleep.'

'I most certainly do not snore.'

Satine peered at Obi-wan over the edge of her datapad. One brow rose slowly upward. 'Are you sure?'

Obi-wan gaped at her, then shut his mouth with an audible _click_. 'All right,' he mumbled, thumbing the tab for his calculus work, fleeing into the relative security and dependability of numbers.

* * *

'Where are the most vulnerable point on a human male's body?' Qui-gon asked, gesturing to Obi-wan. 'Or humanoid?'

'Eyes. Nose. Throat. Here, specifically,' Satine said, fluttering her fingers at the bulge of Obi-wan's larynx. 'Ears if you can hit them just right…' She chewed her lower lip. 'Knees, front or side…' She pointed down. 'Instep.'

'You've missed one,' Qui-gon said with an amused glint in his eyes. Obi-wan's hands twitched as he forcibly restrained himself from covering his groin.

Satine blushed and coughed. 'Groin,' she managed.

'Good.' Qui-gon motioned toward Satine. 'Obi-wan. Pretend you're going to attack her from behind.'

Obi-wan paled slightly. _Karabast_ … So far the dance she was teaching him hadn't involved actually touching one another. He didn't want to know what she felt like. Imagining it in the privacy of his bedroom was bad enough. Obi-wan gulped and ran his sweaty palms down the sides of his trousers. He stepped behind Satine and gingerly wrapped his arms around her. 'Do it like you mean it, Padawan,' Qui-gon admonished. Obi-wan's arms tightened. 'Satine, if your arms are free, you can jab your elbow into his stomach. Even better if you can do it just here.' He took one of Satine's hands and pressed it to the area just under his sternum. She nodded, one elbow moving slightly. 'Then stomp as hard as you can on his instep.' She moved a foot to rest lightly on top of Obi-wan's. 'Then you can use a fist to smack him on the nose,' Qui-gon instructed, demonstrating the move. Satine's hand flew back and stopped just short of punching Obi-wan in the nose, although she did tap the back of her hand against the tip of it. Qui-gin nudged her tightly clenched fist. 'Remember. Keep your thumb on the outside of your fist. You'll break it otherwise.' Satine uncurled her fingers just enough to make a fist in the manner described by Qui-gon. 'Then…' He coughed. 'Then swing down and punch him in the groin. As hard as you can.' Obi-wan did instinctively shield himself with his hands, then.

'Does that really work?' she asked, brows drawn together.

'Yes,' Obi-wan and Qui-gon said at the same time. Obi-wan nearly cupped a hand protectively over the mass of his cock and balls, but managed to change the motion into tugging his tunic and tabard back into place. 'It feels like…' He trailed off, trying to find the words to accurately describe it. 'Like… the galaxy exploded in your body. But just there. And it wipes everything else out of existence, except this all-encompassing pain. And when it subsides enough for you to come to your senses, all you want to do is puke, but that would require movement, so you just lie on the floor, curled into a ball, and hope the end comes for you sooner rather than later.'

Satine's lip curled with skepticism. 'Surely he's exaggerating,' she said to Qui-gon.

Qui-gon gave Obi-wan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 'In this case, the Padawan is correct.'

Satine's eyes creased with amusement. 'So someone's done this to you before.'

'Once,' Obi-wan said succinctly. It had been a training accident. It had taken him ages to crawl to the side of the dojo, then even longer to stand. Every male in the room with external genitalia winced in sympathy.

'I have a mannequin you can pummel to your heart's content,' Qui-gon interjected, directing Satine's attention to the other side of the hangar. 'I'd like to keep my Padawan in one piece.' He pushed his hair over his shoulder. 'Now. If someone comes for you face-to-face…' Qui-gon's finger circled the tip of Obi-wan's nose. You want the heel of your palm to hit there.' Satine nodded, frowning with concentration as she mimed the move. 'Introduce your knee or foot to his groin, if you can.'

'Press your thumbs to his eyes,' Obi-wan advised. 'And in a pinch, you can always… pinch something.' He smiled broadly at his own joke.

'Was that supposed to be funny?' Qui-gon groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

'That was truly atrocious,' Satine added. 'Pinch like this?' She pinched a fold of skin on Obi-wan's wrist between the pads of her thumb and forefinger.

'Like this…' Obi-wan repositioned her fingers so her thumb pressed against the side of the knuckle of her forefinger. He lifted his arms so the sleeves of his overtunic fell back. 'Here's a good spot,' he told her, pointing to the back of his arm, just above his elbow. 'Or here.' His finger moved to the inside of his bicep.

Qui-gon shook his sleeve back. 'It doesn't take much, and the less you pinch, the better,' he told her, demonstrating on his own wrist.

Obi-wan folded his arms over his chest and brought one hand to his chin. 'You should try to make yourself as much of a nuisance as possible. Don't make it easy for them. Shout, scream… resist. I don't think killing you is the endgame.' He studied her with an intensity that left Satine feeling prickly all over. 'They'll probably want to take you back to Mandalore alive.'

'But we won't let that happen,' Qui-gon interjected. He gave Satine a gentle push in the middle of her back. 'Let's go try what you've just learned on the mannequin, hmmm?'

* * *

_Fear sank its claws into him… terror wrapped him in its tentacles… horror oozed through his veins oily and thick… incomprehension for the briefest of moments, then… grief… overwhelming grief that lodged firmly in this throat, rendering him unable to breathe, to scream…_

Obi-wan sat up with a gasp, swiping a hand over his sweat-glazed face. That dream wasn't one of his. It was full of faces and rooms he had never seen before. It came from…

'Satine,' he muttered, and hurled himself from his bed, darting through their shared 'fresher, hoping she left the door to her bedroom unlocked. He paused for a moment before slapping the panel and took a deep breath. _Emotion, yet peace._ _Ignorance, yet knowledge._ _Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony._ _Death, yet the Force._ 'Stay in the present, Obi-wan,' he said to himself, then let himself into Satine's room. She slept with a light on, he noticed. Satine thrashed wildly, caught in the grip of her nightmare. 'Satine!' Obi-wan grasped her shoulder and shook it. 'Satine, wake up!' 

Her eyes flew open with a gasp. Her pupils were dilated, leaving only a thin ring of blue around them. She stared sightlessly at Obi-wan, still held in the thrall of her dream. 

Obi-wan licked his dry lips and briefly closed his eyes. Tongues of fear licked at him. _There is no emotion; there is peace…_ He projected as calm an aura as he could manage. 'You're all right. It was only a dream…' She shuddered and let out an explosive breath, then sat up. Obi-wan poured water from the small carafe next to her bed into a glass and pressed it into her trembling hand. He sat on the edge of the mattress. 'It was about your parents, wasn't it?'

She nodded and lifted the glass to her lips, gulping half the contents down. 'They came to our house on Kalevala. My mother shoved my younger sister and me into a hidden cupboard just before they forced open the door. We couldn't see what happened, but my sister and I heard everything. They tore the house apart looking for us. For hours. When they finally left, we crawled out of the cupboard. Through a pool of Mother's blood.' Satine squeezed her eyes shut. She could still feel the stickiness of it on her hands and the oddly metallic scent that coated her tongue. 'The couple with me when you and Qui-gon came to Kalevala took us from the house…'

'You're lucky they didn't have scanners…'

'Oh, they did. Father asked the builder to line the cupboard with neuranium when he had it installed.’ Obi-wan couldn’t keep the incredulous expression off his face. Neuranium was so heavy and dense, few craftsmen or artisans in the galaxy worked with it. 

'Where's your sister now?' Obi-wan almost dreaded the answer. The files they’d received about Satine didn’t mention a sister, or any other siblings for that matter. 

'I don't know. They separated us a few days later. To make it harder for the opposition to rid Mandalore of my family entirely. I haven’t seen her since. I don't even know if she's still alive.' She glanced down at the glass in her hands, almost surprised to see it and sipped the water. 'I dream about that night. Often.'

'I'm… I'm sorry…' Obi-wan felt helpless. 'I can't imagine what that was like for you.'

'Do Jedi dream?'

'Some more than others.' He ran a hand over his head. ‘Sometimes they’re just dreams. Sometimes they’re, well, premonitions —‘

‘Seeing the future?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. It’s only a piece here and there. It’s not a perfect vision of the future, you see. Besides, no one’s future is set in stone.’ He stifled a yawn behind his hand and stood. 'I'll just…' He getsured to the open door. 

'Stay.' Satine straightened the disordered bedding. There was something about his presence. She'd noticed it on Kalevala. He kept the dreams at bay; it was the first night she'd slept soundly in weeks. 'Please. Stay.' 

Obi-wan chewed his lower lip. There was ample space for him to sleep. On the floor, of course. He nodded. He darted into his bedroom and picked up one of the pillows from the bed and bundled the duvet in his arms. He dropped the pillow on the floor next to Satine's bed and unfurled the duvet, then folded himself in it. He was asleep within minutes. 

To Satine's astonishment — she never slept well after waking from one of her nightmares — her eyelids drooped, and she fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Di'kutla: idiot; I'm taking it here to mean 'What a bloody eejit." 
> 
> And yes, for those of you that noticed... I used SING from Miss Congeniality. 
> 
> And my lovely spouse assures me Obi-wan's description of how it feels to get hit in the groin is pretty close.


	4. Détente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'People can't hide anything from you, can they?'
> 
> 'We have rules,' Obi-wan began patiently. 'And we learn to block out most of it, to control it, but sometimes, it's difficult.' He looked down at the toes of his boots to avoid making eye contact with her. 'Strong emotions are… difficult…' He tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his tunic, adopting the most Jedi-like mien he could. 'Your father grew them,’ he ventured. 'The flower. Or tried to. The one you wear in your hair belonged to your mother.'
> 
> Satine nodded, blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes. 'I think that's enough for today,' she muttered. 'We have lessons…' She spun on a heel and marched into the house.
> 
> Obi-wan watched her stumble through the door, leaving him with a growing, uneasy realization that large swathes of the galaxy considered the Jedi the antagonists, rather than the heroes of the stories.
> 
> Satine was one of them.
> 
> How could they truly protect her if she didn't trust them?

'One, two, three, four…' Satine counted softly, while Obi-wan followed her movements. He actually enjoyed the dance she was teaching him, not that he would ever admit it to her. He might admit to Qui-gon the steps were actually useful. They weren't unlike the movements one would utilize in hand-to-hand combat or lightsaber duels.

'You could count in Mando'a,' he remarked, coming to a stop. 'Since you've said you'd teach me.' Obi-wan's head tilted to the side, studying her appearance. He ran a fingertip over the edge of the white silk flower woven into her braid. She always either wore it in her hair or had it embroidered somewhere on her clothes. It seemed to be special to her. 'Or start by teaching me the word for this. I haven't seen you without it since we met.'

Satine batted his hand away with a scowl. He was right, even through she was loathe to give him even that much credit for being slightly observant. She rolled her eyes and let out a huff dramatic enough to win accolades on a holodrama. _'Cin'ciri sarad.'_

 _'Cin'ciri sarad,'_ he echoed, with an annoyingly accurate accent. 'What does it mean?'

'It's a flower that used to grow on Mandalore. Before the war. Before we destroyed everything. _Cin'ciri_ means snow. It used to bloom as winter ended, but before the snows melted.' Satine felt her cheeks grow warm. 'It reminds me…' She made a dismissive motion with her hand. 'It's nothing.’

'It reminds you of what your people could be,' he stated.

Satine gaped at him. She’d never told anyone why she’s all but adopted the flower as a personal symbol. 'How did you…?'

Obi-wan looked discomfited. 'You're projecting,' he admitted. 'It's hard to ignore.'

'You're reading my mind, my thoughts?' Satine's mouth rounded with horror. 'Do you do that all the time?'

'No!' Obi-wan took a few steps back, hands held up in a placating gesture. 'No,' he repeated in a calmer voice. 'I try not to do that. But there’s such a strong emotion associated with it, you were all but shouting.'

'People can't hide anything from you, can they?'

'We have rules,' Obi-wan began patiently. 'And we learn to block out most of it, to control it, but sometimes, it's difficult.' He looked down at the toes of his boots to avoid making eye contact with her. 'Strong emotions are… difficult…' He tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his tunic, adopting the most Jedi-like mien he could. 'Your father grew them,’ he ventured. 'The flower. Or tried to. The one you wear in your hair belonged to your mother.'

Satine nodded, blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes. 'I think that's enough for today,' she muttered. 'We have lessons…' She spun on a heel and marched into the house.

Obi-wan watched her stumble through the door, leaving him with a growing, uneasy realization that large swathes of the galaxy considered the Jedi the antagonists, rather than the heroes of the stories.

Satine was one of them.

How could they truly protect her if she didn't trust them?

* * *

'Something troubles you.' It was a statement of fact, not a question.

The pebbles Obi-wan balanced atop one another scattered into the grass. 'What makes you say that?'

'Obi-wan…' Qui-gon levelled a knowing glance at his apprentice. Even though Obi-wan's reputation as a troublemaker had given Qui-gon pause when he took him on as an apprentice, he was a serious and dedicated student. The boy had come out to his lesson visibly distracted and unfocused. 'Something concerning the Jedi Order?' he posited, grasping the faint thread of thought from Obi-wan.

'We can do a great many things,' Obi-wan began, making a slight scooping motion with his hand. A large pebble floated in front of him. He rotated his wrist this way and that, making the pebble spin in lazy circles. 'Take the mind trick, for example… You and I believe it's benign, but to others…' He squirmed. 'It borders on manipulative.'

Qui-gon sighed and folded himself to the grass next to Obi-wan. 'It _is_ manipulative.'

'Then why do we do it?' He flicked a finger and the pebble flew toward the window, stopping just sort of it, and then fell back to the ground. 'It almost seems too easy to abuse, in the wrong hands.'

'Ask yourself why you would need a tool like that at your disposal. Beyond what we told Satine.' Qui-gon started to rise, but Obi-wan's voice stopped him.

'Master, how many people regard the Jedi Order with suspicion?'

Qui-gon exhaled slowly and glanced up at the deep blue sky. 'Far too many,' he admitted. He'd seen it himself on more than one mission. The Jedi swooped in, did whatever the Council had sent them to do, then flew away. Some people feared the Jedi for what they could do. He felt no small measure of chagrin when people shied away from the Jedi, treating them as beings out of myth, rather than regular people who had a few special abilities. Yet another reason to educate younglings in other places. Not only could they expose the younglings to different cultures and ways of being, they could expose other worlds to the Jedi. As long as they were kept in relative seclusion on Coruscant, they and their abilities remained a mystery to others. To the detriment of the Jedi.

'That's another reason why the New Mandalorians asked us to protect Satine, isn't it?' Obi-wan asked with a bitter edge of cynicism Qui-gon had never heard before. 'It's not because we're acting at the behest of the Republic. They're counting on bounty hunters not looking for her with a Jedi, because everyone knows Mandalorians despise us.' His nose wrinkled with evident distaste. 'Politics,' he muttered in disgust.

Qui-gon made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. As much as Jedi tried to claim they were apolitical and did not concern themselves with the politics of the Republic, Qui-gon knew it for the hyperbole it was. Every decision was political at its core. Some just had much higher stakes than others. The sooner Obi-wan learned this, the better. He was so idealistic. So naturally inclined to believe in the inherent goodness of people. Qui-gon silently cursed the ways of the Order for not giving him a means to encourage his apprentice to speak of his doubts and fears in a way that would allay them. Even if he could speak to his apprentice's concerns, Obi-wan seemed to take everything Qui-gon said as deeply critical, which only made him more reticent. All he could say was, 'Perhaps we should meditate.'

Obi-wan rearranged himself. 'Yes, Master. Of course…'

Qui-gon inhaled deeply. The Order desperately needed to change, to adapt, before it collapsed under the weight of its own hubris.

* * *

Satine moved around the kitchen, affixing a label to everything she could in the kitchen, written in Mando'a with a phonetic rendering in Basic underneath. She'd already labelled Obi-wan's bedroom and the 'fresher while he was in the garden with Qui-gon. If nothing else, teaching Obi-wan the language would give her something to do, beside worry about the war and the fraught negotiations to end it. Neither Obi-wan nor Qui-gon escaped her efforts. She ignored Obi-wan's squawk of alarm when she slapped a label on the front his tunic when he sat down for breakfast and Qui-gon's puzzled glance at the square of flimsi she stuck to his shoulder. Mando'a didn't have the vocabulary to adequately describe their relationship, so she labelled them _Jetii and Jetii hibir._

Obi-wan twisted the label around so he could read it. ' _Jetti hibir_?' he sounded out. 'What is that?'

Satine flicked him between the eyebrows. 'You have a brain, don't you? Although I'm beginning to doubt that…' She pointed to Qui-gon. 'If he's a full-fledged Jedi, that makes you a…?' Her brow cocked upward and waited for an answer. When none was forthcoming, she huffed, ' _Hibir_ means student. _Jetii_ is Jedi. There aren't words for master or apprentice.' She pushed a booklet across the table toward Obi-wan. 'This might be helpful.'

He flipped through the handwritten pages. The Mandalorian writing system. Numbers. Illustrated vocabulary lists. Phonetic renderings of the correct pronunciation. Basic grammar rules. 'This must have taken hours…'

'It's one reason why I haven't started teaching you. I wanted to finish that first. Mandalorian primary school grammar books don't exactly grow on trees.' Satine flushed and toyed with a slice of fruit. 'I don't sleep much.' After chasing the same piece of melon around her plate until it turned to a small mound of mush, she excused herself and fled to the study. She hadn't meant to admit she had trouble sleeping out loud. Obi-wan knew about her nightmares, but she hadn't let on how much they affected her. She folded herself into a chair and gazed sightlessly at the datapad in her hand. What was it about these two that made her loosen her tongue to such a degree? Were they using their Jedi powers on her?

'No. We're not,' Obi-wan commented dryly from the doorway. He picked up his own datapad and a stylus. He had an exam to sit for xenobiology and he couldn't focus with Satine fretting so much. 'And before you ask, I didn't read your thoughts,' he added, settling down behind the massive desk. 'You said that part out loud.'

Satine's mouth fell open with indignation, an expression she was starting to feel was far more common than it ought to have been.

Obi-wan glanced at the chrono. He had a few more minutes before he had to start the exam. 'Listen… you and I have a lot of questions about one another… And we tend to become _defensive_ about out answers.'

'I've noticed.'

He switched on the datapad and twirled the stylus between his fingers. 'I have an idea…'

* * *

When Bail Organa had said the kitchen was fully stocked, he had been absolutely serious. Obi-wan stood in front of an open cupboard, weighing his options. He could choose from one of the dizzying array of teas, enough variations of caf to keep the three of them awake for days on end… He held his hand up and made a slight motion with his fingers to one side, while a grin lit up his face. Hot chocolate was one of his secret indulgences. He'd long ago lost count of the number of times he'd been assigned extra chores as a youngling because one of the crèche masters caught him sneaking back into his bed, sporting a chocolatey moustache, hands sticky with mallow paste.

The stuff out of the dispenser at Dex's was good in a pinch, and it made the dark, bitter caf served at the diner palpable. But when it was made properly from scratch, hot chocolate was divine, in Obi-wan's opinion. He loaded the multiprocessor with enough pods, then waited for the chime. Water and sweetener, but not too much. Then milk.

While the mixture heated, Obi-wan rooted through the various drawers, searching for the last piece of his plan. Every kitchen in the Jedi Temple had a drawer full of various odds and ends. He didn't think the Alderaanian royal family's retreat would be any different. _There…_ He wedged a hand into the back of the drawer and withdrew a somewhat battered deck of sabacc cards that he slipped into the pocket of his pajamas.

The multiprocessor chimed, and he poured the steaming beverage into two thick mugs, then topped it with a dollop of mallow paste. Far too many Padawans disdained the mallow paste as childish. That was fine in his opinion. More for him.

Obi-wan made his way upstairs and turned into his bedroom. The doors of the connecting 'fresher were left open. Satine had placed a couple of cushions on the floor and dimmed the lights. He handed one of the mugs to her and sat down on the unoccupied cushion.

Satine sniffed the contents of the mug. 'What is this?'

'Hot chocolate.' Obi-wan swiped a finger through the mound of mallow paste and licked it off with a hum of pleasure. 'It's considered a treat for the younglings in the Temple.' He set the mug on the floor next to him and pulled the deck of cards from his pocket. 'All right. Whoever draws the low card must answer whatever question is asked of them.' He pointed at Satine. 'And no judgement.' He paused for the space of a breath. 'Or mocking.'

'Fair enough.' She took a sip of the hot chocolate, and her eyes widened. _Oh… this is good…_ Obi-wan's expression turned smug. 'We should have the option to pass on a question,' she suggested, the tip of her tongue darting out to catch a small blob of mallow paste at the corner of her mouth. 'So many per session?'

Obi-wan picked up the cards and expertly shuffled them, then placed the deck between them.. 'Three?'

'Fine.'

They each drew a card. He turned his card over to reveal the low card. Satine's brow arched with a palpable sense of triumph. 'What were you like as a child?'

Obi-wan wrapped both hands around his mug. 'Hm. A rule-breaker. If there was a rule in the crèche, I broke it.' He chuckled as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. 'I broke curfew stealing snacks from the kitchens. Led games through the corridors of the Jedi Temple. Stayed up too late watching holodramas or reading silly adventure holonovels under the covers. Explored some of the less than ideal areas of Coruscant on my own. Got brought back to the Temple more than once by a police droid when the crèche masters discovered I was missing. Used the foulest language I could learn. I ran a sabacc game a couple of years ago. We don't really have money or much in the way of possessions, so we gambled with our chores. I earned good marks in my studies, but during my free time…' He shrugged expansively. 'I earned quite a reputation as hellion,' he admitted with a sheepish grin.

'Oh, well done.' Satine grinned over the rim of her mug. 'I was afraid you were an insufferable prig.'

'It was rather difficult to find a someone willing to take me on as an apprentice, once I'd passed the Initiate Trials. Master Qui-gon already had a _history_ — shall we say? — of pushing boundaries whenever possible. So when he finally agreed to teach me, I thought I should do everything as by the book as possible. So if he's ever expelled from the Order for gross disobedience, perhaps another Master won't be reluctant to teach me.'

'Could they really do that?'

'Theoretically.' Obi-wan fiddled with the discarded card. 'It would have to be… Oh, I don't know… something truly destructive. An addiction for example. One where the person in question refuses to seek treatment. Or an unseemly attachment to someone.' He drew his next card. 'It happens, but only rarely.'

'Define "unseemly attachment."'

‘The Jedi don't forbid feelings,' he began hesitantly. He was still trying to figure out the balance himself. 'We're allowed to feel, but we have to control it, not let the emotion control us. Even positive emotions like love can take a turn toward obsessive. It's the obsession that comes from strong feelings for someone that can lead one down the path to the Dark side.' Obi-wan wound his braid around his fingers. 'Anything that might interfere with a Jedi’s ability to do their job. Jedi aren't allowed to marry. Or have children. Or take a lover…'

'You're not allowed to…?' Satine coloured. 'Erm… You're required to be celibate?'

Obi-wan's face flushed. He unfastened the top two buttons of his pajama top. _Karabast, when did it get so warm in here?_ 'Oh. Ah.' He tugged at his braid, flustered. 'That in of itself is not forbidden. It's not encouraged, either, but if a Jedi chose to enter into a casual, consensual…' He looked up at the ceiling, groping for the words to accurately describe how Jedi viewed such things. ‘It isn't the physical activity… It's the relationship… There are those that would rain condemnation on another Jedi's head for… _that_ , but most would not.’ He took a deep breath, then squarely met Satine's eyes. 'Duty comes first. The Order takes priority over anything else.'

'Have you…?'

'No…' In the tense silence that followed, Obi-wan toyed with the hem of his pajama bottoms.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...’

‘It’s all right. Knowledge is important.’ He twisted the hem of his pajama bottoms around his index finger. ‘Have you...?’

‘No.’

They stared at one another for a long moment, scarcely breathing. Satine reckoned she could cut the tension between them with a spoon, it was so thick. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, then down to the stack of cards on the floor. She cleared her throat and flipped over her next card. Obi-wan grinned. 'Ahhhh.' He tried to steer the conversation back into more neutral territory. 'Where did you learn to dance?'

'We're Mandalorians, Obi-wan, not barbarians.' Satine drained the last of her hot chocolate and set the mug aside. 'My parents insisted I learn. A lot of early Mandalorian history tended to get passed down through stories, songs, or dances. My father felt if I was going to try and lead Mandalore, I should know the unwritten history, in addition to recorded history. And even though we embraced a pacifist philosophy, I needed to learn from our collective past. Some of them aren't considered accurate versions of history. They might have some basis in fact, but they're shrouded in the mists of time, so no one really knows. Like the one I'm teaching you.'

'So there's a story behind the one we're learning?' Obi-wan rubbed the side of his forefinger against his chin. He did like a good story. 'Do tell.'

'No one performs it very often. It's not very popular.' Satine laced her fingers together. 'Mostly because the female partner plays the role of a Jedi. It's a legend from the earliest days of the conflict. A Mandalorian and a Jedi fought several pitched battles, all to stalemates. And over time, their mutual antagonism turned to respect for one another as warriors. Then…' She pleated the hem of her nightdress between her fingers. 'The legend says they fell in love, renounced the Jedi and the Mandalorians, and wandered the galaxy as outcasts.'

'I can see why it's not popular.'

'I've always seen it as more hopeful, than tragic. That if they could put aside their differences, why can't we?' Satine tucked her bare feet under the hem of her nightdress. 'But the more traditional sorts only see that they lost the courage of their convictions and abandoned the vows they'd each sworn to the Jedi Order and Mandalore. It's treated as a cautionary tale.' She glanced at Obi-wan through her lashes. 'Mandalorians think the Jedi are weak.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Because you only fight in defense of something, even though you're trained as warriors. It's antithetical to the traditional ways of Mandalore. And, there's the Force.'

Obi-wan felt his hackles rise. 'What about it?'

Satine waved her hand through the air in imitation of Qui-gon or Obi-wan using the Force to push something away from them. 'They think Jedi cheat. That it's not a fair fight.'

'It's harder than it looks.'

'Is it?'

'Yes.'

'I suppose I'll have to trust you on that one.' They revealed their next cards. Obi-wan had the low one. 'Explain the haircut.'

'It's tradition. For human males.' He ran his hand over the spiky hair on top. His hair had been a shaggy mop as a youngling. Part of him couldn't wait to be a full Jedi Knight. If for no other reason than to let his hair grow back out into something less… distinct. 'When a Jedi chooses a youngling to become their Padawan, the morning the Padawan moves out of the crèche and into the Padawans' dormitory, one of the crèche masters cuts their hair.' He remembered staring at his reflection in a mirror while the crèche master clipped his hair with a pair of scissors, just as they had done millennia ago. Red-gold strands glittered in the early morning light as they fluttered to the floor. Devoid of the mass of hair around his face, Obi-wan looked awkward, his head seemed too big for his skinny frame. He rather resembled a species of bird that had tufts of feathers on its head and legs that were far too long for its round body. 'It's… Startling. I looked like a completely different person.'

'And the braid?'

'Symbolic. Just there to mark one as an apprentice. A rite of passage. Getting the braid marks the beginning of the apprenticeship. When one reaches the rank of Jedi Knight, the Grand Master severs it in a ceremony.'

'What if an apprentice isn't human or doesn't have hair, like Twi'leks or Togruta?'

'Usually a strand of silka beads.'

Satine reached out and fingered the length of Obi-wan's braid. The braid itself was slightly clumsy and uneven. It fell over his right shoulder halfway to his waist. 'Does it have to be a specific length?'

'No.' He wound the end around his finger. 'Most male Padawans who can wear a braid don't let it go past here.' He drew a line just below his shoulder. 'I choose to keep it long. Just reminds me how long I've been an apprentice.' They flipped their next cards over.

'How long will you be an apprentice?'

'At least ten years. Give or take a year or two. I've been with Qui-gon since I was twelve.'

‘And he’s your sole instructor?’

‘As far as using the Force and learning the ways of the Jedi, yes. I still study academic subjects. If I’m on Coruscant, I can attend classes in-person. If I’m out with Qui-gon, it’s rather like what you see in the study. I don’t have to follow a set schedule for the most part, but I am expected to complete everything by a certain date.’ His mouth twisted into a wry grin. 'Unless something comes up, but the teachers don't care if you had to help put down an invasion. They still expect you to do your homework in a timely manner and not three weeks past the end of term.' He chuckled. 'Qui-gon once had to intercede on my behalf. I was about thirteen and due to circumstances quite beyond my control, I missed the deadline to submit an exam by roughly eighteen hours. The teacher intended to fail me because of that.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'They were new to teaching Padawans.'

'And you do this until you're fully trained with the imprimatur of the Grand Master?'

Obi-wan nodded. 'When all is said and done, we end up with what amounts to be a decent university education.'

Satine studied at him with no small measure of umbrage, wondering if he was aware of the immense privilege in which he lived. He was fed, housed, and clothed by the Jedi Order. The Temple itself — if her research was correct — was as far beyond the supposed spartan and austere lifestyle the Jedi were supposed to have lived. Furthermore, it was on the planet many considered the center of the bloody galaxy. Anything he could ever want or need was at his literal fingertips. If they ever had to flee Alderaan, she thought the experience would be a jolting eye-opener for him. She'd already spent weeks moving from place to place, trying to stay a few steps ahead of the Death Watch. Whatever scraps of privilege she had vanished the moment someone used a vibroblade to slit her parents' throats. Their time on Alderaan had been the longest she'd stayed in one place since her parents died. It was beginning to make her nervous. She blinked and shook herself slightly, then drew her next card and gave Obi-wan a cheeky grin. 'What was it really like to grow up in the Jedi Temple?'

'Just as I told you. We never lacked for affection and were never neglected.' Obi-wan sighed and rearranged himself on the cushion at Satine's openly skeptical look. 'Infants and children too young to begin formal instruction live in the nursery part of the crèche. It's where we learn how to do things like tie our shoelaces. We learn the Aurebesh alphabet and numbers. Start learning how to read and write. The crèche masters in the nursery teach us games that encourage us to build upon our connection to the Force. And when we've demonstrated a mastery of basic skills with the Force, they move us to the next level. There, they sort the younglings into one of several clans. Each clan has about ten younglings. We live together, train together, take classes together. A clan is assigned to a single crèche master, who is responsible for our well-being, and continues to help us develop our skills in the Force. Once a youngling is assigned to someone as a Padawan, the structure that governs your life is much less rigid. And you gain a bit of privacy.' Obi-wan's mouth twisted up in a rueful grin. 'Well, as much as the Padawans' dormitory allows.'

'I take it that's not much?' Satine guessed.

'More than the younglings. They sleep in one large room with their clan-mates.' He raised his hand and a scrap of flimsi and a stylus on the desk floated into his hand. 'It's like this…' He quickly sketched the rough outline of the suite where he lived on Coruscant. 'There's a common area surrounded by six sleeping cells and two 'freshers.' He added an enlarged version of the sleeping cell. 'The cell has a bed, a desk for studying, and a small wardrobe for our clothing. And it's just barely large enough for that.' He gestured around Satine's bedroom. 'Your bedroom and mine could hold an entire Padawan suite. It's quite palatial in comparison.' One shoulder rose and fell in a offhanded shrug. 'Still… I couldn't sleep the first night as a Padawan. It was too quiet.'

He sighed, and then scowled good-naturedly at the cards. 'Interesting that I've drawn the majority of the low cards.'

Satine's eyes glinted with fizzing humor. 'You shuffled them.'

'So I did.'

She looked down at the cards, drew one and turned it over. 'Oh, kriff it…'

'You said you have a sister…?'

'I do.' Satine traced the faint pattern in the carpet. 'Bo. It's not her full name, which I won't say to protect her.'

'Understandable.' Obi-wan hunched forward and rested his chin on his knees. 'How old is she?'

'Fourteen. Nearly fifteen. She's nothing like me.'

'So she's polite to strangers?'

Satine snorted heavily through her nose. 'More stubborn than me, which is saying something. And wrong about everything. Goes charging into something new without looking. She's fearless and brave. And it's going to get her into trouble one day.' She glanced up at Obi-wan. 'You'd probably like her.'

'You miss her,' Obi-wan stated. Satine's brow furrowed, and he shook his head slightly. 'You don't need the Force to see that,' he added gently.

'The last thing my mother said to me was to take care of Bo. Just before she closed the door of our hiding place.' Satine's gaze fixated on something beyond Obi-wan's shoulder. 'I failed miserably,' she confessed. 'I was too exhausted and heartbroken to argue when they said we ought to be separated for our safety.' She pinched the bridge of her nose. 'I should have tried harder…'

'That wasn't your fault.'

'Bo was _my_ responsibility. And I… just let her go.'

'When did you last see her?'

'Six months ago.' Satine hugged her knees into her chest. 'I'm afraid I may never see her again.'

'Of course you will.' It sounded forced, even to Obi-wan's ears.

Satine shook her head, shoulders tightening. Bo-Katan hadn't openly supported Death Watch, but discussions between her and their father devolved into shouting matches, that often ended with her screaming that Mandalorians would never give up the core of their identity. Every family had the traditional armor. Even House Kryze, though it was hidden away. The first thing Bo-Katan had done when they crawled from their hiding space was retrieve it, silently daring Satine to forbid her to do so. 'No. I don't think I will.' She shook herself, shaking off the mists of memory. 'It's late. We should go to bed.'

Obi-wan picked up the cards and stuffed them into his pocket, then collected the mugs. He’d take them down to the kitchen in the morning. ‘I remember my...’ His fingers clutched at the handles of the mugs as if they were the only thing keeping him grounded. ‘Where I was born...’. He quickly added, ‘Not my par—‘ He stopped. He couldn’t call them his parents. They hadn’t raised him. They were no longer legally his family. Not since he was brought into the Order. ‘I don’t remember any of the other Kenobis,’ he amended. ‘But I do remember a garden. And I remember I felt... safe...’ He felt his cheeks burn and pivoted sharply on a heel and all but fled the short distance to his bedroom.

He’d never admitted it to anyone. It was a closely guarded secret kept behind mental walls so impenetrable, even Master Yoda hadn’t discovered it. He had no memories of his parents or siblings, not even hazy, indistinct ones. But he remembered the garden and the scent of its sun-warmed grass. How if he’d wanted a toy left on the far side, all he needed to do was stretch out his hand and picture it sailing across the garden toward him, and whatever it was floated into his hand. And then one day, a person dressed in the robes of a Jedi picked him up, carried him onto a ship, and took him away from the garden. He hadn't been frightened. Someone enveloped him in a blanket of serenity with an assurance that all would be well.

It hadn't come from the Jedi who held his pudgy hand.

He climbed into his bed and pulled out the datapad from underneath his pillow and began to type. _KENOBI, STEWJON._ Guilt curdled in his belly, because he wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to seek out his Master’s counsel should the urge arise, but he never knew how to speak to Qui-gon. He didn’t want to add to his growing list of shortcomings. He tapped the screen to search the archives, and then laid the datapad face down on his chest.

He wasn’t going to contact them. He didn’t really want to. He wanted to know if he had his mother's eyes or his father's nose. If they were good and kind people. He just wanted... _It isn’t the Jedi way to want things… Or dwell in the past,_ he reminded himself. He inhaled slowly, deeply, then raised the device.

And switched it off.

Obi-wan’s hand rose and the datapad rose with it. He pushed, palm out, and it drifted to the desk on the opposite side of the room and landed on it with the barest hint of a clatter.


End file.
